PRIMAL Reckoning (Book 1 in the Redemption Trilogy, the PRIMAL Series Book 5) (20 page)

“Come on,
Saneh, live!” he screamed as he forced down on her chest. Tears filled his eyes
and he fought off dizziness as he counted out the compressions. Reaching thirty
he gave her two breaths and started again. “Damn you, Saneh, you’re not going
to die. Fucking breathe, Saneh.”

As he
pumped down on her chest he heard the crack of her ribs. Her eyes flickered opened
and she started coughing up mouthfuls of foul water.

Bishop turned
her on her side as she coughed, then vomited. After a minute of constant hacking
she lay back in the warm Mexican sun. “I thought I’d never see this again,” she
croaked.

He
collapsed on the bank of the polluted river and closed his eyes.

“Aden,”
Christina whispered. “Who is Saneh?”

CHAPTER 23

Mitch checked the Gulfstream’s heads-up
display, confirming they were on target. The luxury jet was cruising at twenty-five
thousand feet just north of the Mexican border.

Mirza was
sitting in the co-pilot’s seat, watching intently.

“You
ready to take the stick yet, mate?”

Mirza
wore a serious look as he reached forward and placed his hands on the yoke.
“Ready when you are. Hands on.” It was the first time Mirza had flown since
training on the flight simulator back on the island.

“I’m
handing over control in one, two, three. Hands off.” Mitch released the
controls and turned to Mirza with a grin. “There you go mate, you’re flying.”

Mirza
smiled for a split second before turning serious again.

Mitch got
out of his chair. “I’ll leave the cockpit door open, mate. Just in case you have
any problems.” He walked into the luxurious cabin and sat in one of the
armchairs. There was a laptop open on the desk in front of him.

PRIMAL’s
G650
,
nicknamed Sleek, was one of a number aircraft that had been heavily modified to
conduct covert operations across the globe. The collection included: an Ilyushin-76
heavy transporter that doubled as a special ops support platform and gunship, a
tiltrotor capable of flying long distances and landing vertically, as well as a
number of helicopters and unmanned drones. Mitch had reconfigured and enhanced
all the aircraft to meet their needs.

While the
Il-76, or Pain Train as it was affectionately known, was his favorite, he
really enjoyed flying the Gulfstream. He seriously doubted there was another
aircraft this size anywhere in the world that had half as much capability. It
had a comprehensive electronic counter measures suite, a sophisticated intelligence
collection capability, and the ability to deploy free-fall operators or airdrop
specialist equipment.

Mitch
opened the aircraft’s control menu on the laptop and activated the equipment
delivery module. He double-checked the coordinates Chua’s intelligence team had
provided and activated the automatic dispatch program.

At the
back of the aircraft, in what once was a baggage compartment, a tall grey
object that looked like a coffin received the data and prepared itself for
launch. Beneath it, a panel under the tail of the aircraft retracted.

Mitch
watched the countdown. “Five, four, three, two, one… away.” The program
registered the parachute exploding from the top of the package, arresting its
fall. Unlike a standard cargo chute, the ram-air chute was steerable. A GPS
module and a tiny computer used electric motors to apply pressure to the
canopy, steering it through the air. From twenty-five thousand feet, the
precision cargo delivery system was capable of flying almost forty miles and
landing within twenty yards of its target.

He shut
the laptop and walked back to the cockpit.

“I felt
it go,” said Mirza as he waited for Mitch to retake his seat. “Handing over
now.”

They ran
through the sequence again and he took the controls, immediately banked the
aircraft north and commenced their descent. “We’ll be on the ground in El Paso
in twenty, across the border in an hour, and at Bishop’s safe house just after
sunset.” He checked the iPRIMAL interface panel.

“Still no
update from him?”

“No,
nothing.”

“He
should have finished his mine recon by now.

He saw
the worry on Mirza’s face. “It’s OK, mate, he’s probably still out of battery. I
bet he’s shacked up with that journo.”

***

Bishop
glanced up at the edge of the canyon. The sun had disappeared behind the lip
and they had barely made it a mile from where they had surfaced. If he
remembered the terrain correctly, they were only a few miles from the mine, and
a long way from help. Soon the temperature would drop and Christina’s condition
would deteriorate even further. In the hours after her near drowning Bishop had
noticed troubling symptoms. Vomiting, dizziness, and an inability to control
her body temperature indicated the water in the river might have poisoned her.
His own eyes were sore and his skin was itching, but unlike Christina, he’d not
ingested much of the polluted stream.

“Water,”
she croaked as she staggered along the canyon floor.

Bishop
held her as they walked. “We can’t drink it. It’ll only make you sicker.”

She shivered
again. He pulled out his broken iPRIMAL and tried to turn it on. Nothing.

With a
moan Christina collapsed against him. He helped her down to the ground where
she dry retched. The sun was below the horizon now and it was only going to get
colder. They needed a fire.

He
gathered a handful of dry grass and quickly built a tepee of sticks around it.
He emptied his pockets onto the ground. Somehow he still had both the folding
knife and the chrome-plated colt. He ejected the magazine from the weapon and
thumbed out a round. Using the knife, he pried the bullet from the brass casing.
Then he trimmed a small piece of material from the bottom of his jeans and
stuffed it into the cartridge.

He
chambered the modified round and shot it into the sand. Picking up the
smoldering piece of cotton with his knife, he transferred it into the heap of
dry grass. It smoked and took light as he breathed gently on it. Within a few
minutes he had a fire burning fiercely.

“You need
to leave me,” croaked Christina.

“No way.
I didn’t drag your ass out of that mine to leave you in the desert.”

“Saneh needs
you,” she mumbled.

They
enjoyed the warmth radiating from the fire for a few minutes before he got up
to find more wood. As he searched, he found his thoughts wandering to Saneh.
She was in Indonesia at a Yoga retreat. She would have no idea he was lost in
the desert. If she did know, would she come? They had parted on bad terms and
he wasn’t sure it could ever go back to the way it was. His recklessness had
probably cost him the only woman he had ever really loved. He shook his head
and picked up another stick. That was all irrelevant now. His focus was on
keeping Christina alive.

He was
about to head back to the fire with an armful of sticks when he heard a noise.
He dropped the kindling and drew his pistol. Stalking slowly along the bank he
waited till his eyes had adjusted to the gloom. He heard the soft whinny of a
horse and nearly cried out for joy. “Tinkerbell, is that you?”

The horse
walked across, sniffed him, then nuzzled the side of his face. He took her reins
and led her back to the fire. “Christina, look who I found.”

He took
the water bottle still hooked over the horn of the saddle and gave Christina a
drink. She tried to gulp from it but he stopped her. “Just little sips.” As she
sipped he kicked out the fire.

“Had
enough water?”

She
nodded and handed him the bottle. He returned it to the horse and retrieved a
blanket from where it had been tied behind the saddle. He draped it over her
shoulders and helped her onto Tinkerbell’s back. The stocky mare turned her
head and sniffed Christina’s leg. She whinnied softly when Bishop climbed into
the saddle and held Christina in front of him.

Bishop
gave her a gentle touch with his heels. “Come on girl, take us home.”

She gave another
whinny and started off along the creek bed.

***

Mirza
was amazed at how easy it was to cross the border from Texas to Mexico. There
was no check on the US side and the Mexican guards showed little interest in
two men in a battered old Ford Bronco truck. He was thankful for that, because
explaining what an Indian and a Brit were doing traveling together might have
proven awkward. Although the cover story Mitch had developed was no less so.
Allegedly he was the ‘little spoon’, whatever that meant.

Mitch was
driving the truck at break-neck speed across a barren section of desert forty
miles from the border. The lights bolted to the top of the truck lit up the
sandy track for a hundred yards in front of them. The GPS app on the tablet attached
to the dash counted down the distance from their destination.

“Thar she
blows.” Mitch slowed and turned off the track. The off-road tires crunched over
dry bushes and shrubs as he pulled alongside the coffin-shaped equipment pod.

Mirza
jumped out and started bundling up the grey parachute. He wound it around his
arms and dumped it in the back of the Bronco. “How close was it?”

Mitch
bent over the pod and unlatched a panel revealing a keypad. “Within ten yards.
Best yet.” He punched in a code and the container popped open revealing black
gear bags.

Mirza loaded
the bags while Mitch stripped the electronic guidance package from the pod and placed
it on the back seat. The carbon fiber container would remain in the desert.

He took
two
Glock 19 pistols
in paddle holsters from one of the bags.
He clipped one onto his belt and pulled his shirt over it. Slamming the back of
the truck shut, he joined Mitch in the cab and placed the second handgun on the
console.

The
technician was studying his iPRIMAL tablet. It was a larger version of the
smartphones they all carried; a highly sophisticated battlefield management,
intelligence, and communications system. He had preloaded it with imagery covering
northern Mexico.

Mirza
checked his pistol. “How far are we?”

Mitch activated
the navigation function and slotted the device back into its cradle. “We’ll be
at Bishop’s safe house within the hour.”

CHAPTER
24

Roberto’s eyes snapped open and he sat up
as the door handle to his makeshift cell turned. One of the mine’s workers
entered with a tray and placed it on the floor.

Roberto recognized the man. He had been a
farm hand that had labored for him over the summer. Now he was one of the few
locals who had taken jobs at the mine; a move that had ostracized him from the
small community.

The tray
held a single bowl of white slop. Roberto locked eyes with the farm hand.

The man
mouthed something. Roberto frowned, what was he trying to say?

Again, he
mouthed the same word.

Roberto
realized what he was saying. Message.

“I
remember you,” he said as the man turned to leave. “You helped me put out that
fire at the Veda ranch.”

The worker
paused at the door with a confused look on his face.

“Yeah,
that’s right. You helped at the Veda ranch.” He mouthed the next words.
“Tomorrow, they’re going to hit the Veda ranch.”

The man
nodded and disappeared. The door was locked and Roberto was left alone with the
bowl of slop.

***

Bishop let Tinkerbell canter the last mile home. She seemed
to understand the urgency of the situation. Her neigh woke the ranch before
Bishop managed a shout. Lights snapped on in the ranch house, then the huts.

Everyone
came out to meet them: the brothers Miguel and Gerardo, Emilio, and the ranch
owner with his wife. Christina was pulled from his arms by strong hands and
bundled inside the house to be tended by the rancher’s wife. Bishop slid down from
the horse and patted her on the nose. “Thank you, Tink!”

She gave
a snort and tossed her head in the direction of the barn. She was ready for a
feed.

Emilio
took the reins from him. “Where is Roberto?”

Bishop
shook his head. “They captured him.”

The old
man’s shoulders slumped and he led the horse to the stable. It was the first
time Bishop had seen the staunch rancher’s will to fight defeated. He followed
him into the barn and grasped him by the shoulder. “We’ll make them pay for
this, and if he’s alive we’ll do our best to get him back.”

The old
man turned to him, his eyes glossy. “First my son, now Roberto? We can’t fight
these people.”

Bishop
undid Tink’s girth strap and slid the saddle off her back. “Yes we can.” He
peeled the saddle blanket from her back. She gave a shake and plunged her nose
into the bag of oats offered to her by Emilio. “They don’t know who they’re
dealing with.”

He left
Emilio to tend the horse and knocked on the front door of the house. The
rancher met him with a grave face. He led him through to where Christina was
propped up in bed. His wife was holding a mug of water and trying to get her to
drink.

Christina
managed a smile when she saw Bishop. “Hey,” she croaked.

He leaned
over and gently brushed a strand of hair from her face. He took the cup from
the wife. “I’ll watch her for a bit.”

The woman
nodded and left them together.

“How you
doing, warrior?” he asked.

“I’m OK.”
She started coughing.

Bishop
handed her a tissue from the nightstand. She struggled to hold it against her
mouth. He knew she needed to get to a medical facility. “Hey, you did good
today, kiddo. A weaker person would have called it quits, but you stuck it out.
I’m proud of you.”

She
looked at him with weary eyes. “I hope Saneh realizes what a lucky woman she is
to have your heart.”

The
comment was like a punch to his chest and he was lost for words.

The
honking of a car horn snapped him out of it. “I’ll be back.” He ran through the
kitchen, past the rancher and his wife, to the front door. He cracked it open
and peered through.

An old
Ford Bronco was parked in front of the ranch. Emilio was standing a few yards
off to the flank with his bolt-action rifle raised.

“No need
for the gat, mate, we’re friends of Aden.”

Bishop
instantly recognized the voice. “Mitch!” He pushed open the door and walked to
the truck.

Mitch appeared
from the driver’s side of the vehicle, followed by Mirza who ran an eye over
Bishop’s disheveled appearance.

“What on
earth happened to you?”

“I’ll
explain later. You got a trauma kit in the truck?”

“Of
course. What’s wrong? You hit?” Mirza asked as he opened the back of the Bronco
and pulled out the medical supplies.

“Not me,
the girl. I think she’s got toxic poisoning.” Bishop left Mitch to unpack the
gear. He led Mirza back into the house.

Christina
was still sitting up in bed.

“This is
my friend, Mirza. He’s a medic and will help you.”

She
looked at them, eyes heavy with malaise. “Hello.”

“Hello,
Christina. How you feeling?” Mirza put a digital thermometer in her ear and
took a reading.

“Sore and
tired,” she mumbled.

Mirza
checked her eyes with a penlight. “Aden, we need to get fluids into her and get
her to hospital in the next few hours.” He unzipped the med kit and pulled out
a giving set and saline bag. It took him only a few seconds to find a vein and
insert the needle.

“The
ranch owner’s wife has offered to take her to El Paso,” Emilio said, standing
at the door.

Bishop nodded.
“I think that’s best.”

“I’ll let
her know.”

Christina
coughed. “I don’t want to go,” she moaned.

He put
his hand on Mirza’s shoulder. “Can I have a few minutes with her.”

Mirza
handed over the fluids bag and stepped out of the room.

Bishop
took her hand. “We’ve got to get you to a hospital, Christina. The water from
the river has made you sick.”

“But, you’re
not sick.”

The
corner of his mouth turned up in a half smile. “I managed to keep my mouth shut
underwater.”

Another
fit of coughing wracked her body. “Promise me you’ll get Roberto back.”

“I’ll do my
best.”

“No,
promise me.”

“I can’t
promise you that.”

She
glared at him. “You got me out of the mine, Aden. You can save Roberto.”

He took
her hand and kissed her on the cheek. “You just concentrate on getting better.
I’ll take care of everything here.”

Ten
minutes later
Bishop watched the tail
lights of the rancher’s truck disappear down the track. Content that Christina
was on her way to hospital, he walked across to where Miguel, Gerardo, and
Emilio were smoking on the front porch of the bunkhouse.

Emilio looked up from cleaning a rusty
bolt-action rifle. “Your friends, they are here to help?”

“They’re here to see what can be done.”

“What does that mean?” asked Gerardo.

“It means, if we can find a way to stop
them, then we will. But, there are only three of us.”

“No,” said Emilio. “There are six of us.”

Bishop nodded. “True. Now, I need to go
and help set up our gear. I’ll talk to you all in the morning. We’ll come up
with a plan to try and rescue Roberto.”

“You need to sleep, Aden,” said Emilio.

“I will.” He strode back to the barn,
stopping to pat Tinkerbell on the nose as he passed her stall on the way to the
storage room.

Mitch and
Mirza were already nearly set up. All the horse equipment had been piled at one
end of the room, clearing space for the gear bags. Mitch had placed a laptop-sized
satellite receiver outside. Cables ran through the window to a wireless router.

“So what
happened out there?” Mitch asked.

Bishop sat
on a step. “It all went to shit.” He spent the next ten minutes filling them in
on the events that had transpired since he had crossed the border into Mexico.
When he was done both Mitch and Mirza wore concerned looks.

Mirza
voiced his doubts first. “Sounds like they had surveillance on Christina from
the start. Either that or one of the Mexicans is an informant.”

Bishop
shook his head. “No, I don’t think there’s a mole. The security at the mine is
somehow hooked into US surveillance assets. I found a ROVER terminal in one of
their buggies.”

Mitch
looked up from where he was studying his tablet. “It would probably be a
Predator.” His fingers danced across the glass touchscreen. “I’m bringing up
the FAA network. If the birds are flying domestically they’ll have had to
submit a flight plan and run a transponder.”

Bishop
managed a wry smile. It was good to have Mitch on the team.

“Here it
is.” He laughed. “Real creative call sign, Pred South. The bird flew a mission
in vicinity of El Paso last night for a period of eight hours. Looks like at
about twenty-one thirty it wandered across the border into Mexico for five hours.”

“You
can’t tell who it was working for?”

“No, it’s
a Customs and Borders bird, but that doesn’t say much.”

“It tells
us enough. Whoever we’re dealing with is linked into interagency assets.
They’re well resourced and supported. This is going to be a tough nut to crack.
We need to continue a low-vis op. Collect all the intel we can and see what
develops.”

Mirza
dropped a large black bag in front of Bishop. “Here’s your gear.”

He unzipped
the bag. It contained all his basic loadout: rifle, pistol, chest rig, and a spare
iPRIMAL.

“We don’t
seem to have much local support to work with,” Mirza said.

“They
mean well, but they’re just farmers. With Roberto captured and Carlos dead, we’ve
only got three guys.”

“Yeah,
and no offence, but Emilio looks like he’s older than Jesus,” Mitch said.

“Well, I
owe him. When we were evading the Black Jackets, his son tried to help me…” His
voice trailed off.

“And?”

“And they
murdered him. Dragged him five miles behind a truck.”

“Bloody
hell.” Mitch looked at Mirza and there was silence.

“Anyway,
those cartel assholes will get their due.” He reached into the pocket on his jeans.
In among the sand and dirt was the SD card. “We got some photos of the mine.
Security is real tight, heaps of cartel gunman. More bad guys than a Bond
movie. Sorry, the card’s pretty beat up.”

“You’d be
surprised at how tough they are. I’ll send the pics through to the Bunker.”

That
reminded Bishop of the chrome .45 he’d been lugging around. He pulled it from
his waistband and unloaded it. “I took this off one of the cartel guys in the
mine. It’s got an inscription.”

Mitch
inspected the weapon. “Wow, not your average pea shooter. I’ll take some photos
and send it through to Chua and the team. In the meantime, why don’t you get
some rest. Mirza and I will get things sorted here. Once we’ve checked in with
the Bunker we’ll work out a game plan. What’s the security situation here?”

“The guys
from the mine think we’re dead. But they’ll be interrogating Roberto, if he’s
still alive. We should run a sentry and move in the morning.”

“I’ll put
a sensor on the road. Mirza and I will take watch and get the gear sorted.”

“The
ranch owner and his wife will have to find another place to bed down for a
while. Can you make sure they get some cash?”

“Will do.
Now, you get a few hours sleep.”

“No, I’ll
do a shift.” As Bishop stood his legs almost gave way. He placed a hand against
the wall to steady himself.

“Bollocks
you will,” said Mitch.

“I think
I might give you a once over before you get your head down,” said Mirza as he
reached for his medical kit.

Bishop
sat back down. “You got anything in there that will help me sleep?”

Mirza
took a few pills from the kit. “Here, an anti-inflammatory, and a sleeping
tablet. In a few hours you’ll be feeling a lot better.” He started checking
Bishop’s vitals. “I’ll put a bag of fluids on your arm while you sleep. You
look dehydrated.”

He
exhaled slowly. “Whatever the doctor orders.”